


All of the Little Things

by lunaseemoony



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-03-14 14:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3414839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaseemoony/pseuds/lunaseemoony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A journey with the Doctor and Rose, only this time told partly from the perspective of all of the little things that they carry with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hands

**Author's Note:**

> So far I intend to have one chapter for each episode in seasons one and two. But it's possible the plot may take me in a different direction. It's rated teen overall just in case, but if that changes, it would be upgraded to adult. Due to the nature of this project, I'm certainly open to requests or suggestions if anyone has them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For season 1 episode 1, "Rose."

Her hand had never held another that clutched hers with such desperation. She was certain that it was a betrayal of sorts, that the owner of that hand had intended to make her think he wanted to keep his distance. When he let go he was even quick to offer her something else to hold. His hand's replacement was just as cold, yes. But its lifelessness only highlighted the fact that his cool and clammy hand had sent such a rush of adrenaline through her fingers and buzzed up her arm that she felt just a little empty with its absence. 

He told her to run for her life. He was just a little bit nutters, and she was just a little bit scared. So she was perfectly willing. He wanted her to think that he would be left to his own devices. And maybe if they'd ran with their fingers entangled just that one time, she might have believed it. 

Except, they met again. There was something else that her hand had felt while clasped so tightly in his, something that she couldn't place. She had a whole list of reasons to chase after him, among them was working out what that little feeling was that tugged at her fingertips when he was near. 

He had to know that merely taking her hand in his wouldn't make her feel the turn of the Earth as he could. She asked who he was, and he took her hand, because he certainly hadn't answered her question with the weight of his words as he must have intended. He answered her question with her hand in his, desperate for someone else to feel what he did. That hand was a tattle tale and a rogue, betraying so easily its owner's loneliness. It hadn't wanted to let go even as he was telling her to forget. He'd raised even more questions that she would see answered before she would do as he advised.

Just when she was ready to let go and forget, because he was terrifying and dangerous, she tumbled down the rabbit hole even further. And there he was, finally willing to reveal to her all of his alien callousness. She should have walked away right then and there. But it was clear to her that the idiot was helpless without her, an all too familiar notion. His rogue hand was willing to apologize for it and all of his horribleness. That had to be why he reached out for her hand yet again, for there was no other good reason, other than they both enjoyed it. He wasn't alone when he held her hand. They ran towards the danger together, with her hand hopelessly entwined in his. 

That hand of his didn't have eyes of course. So it didn't see her as unemployed shop girl. It felt just another hand, attached to someone willing to get into trouble, willing to rescue a lonely old man. It betrayed its owner's feelings perhaps more than he was aware at first. “Run with me,” it urged her. And really, what else was she to do with her life? 

She couldn't have been more surprised when he actually admitted he was lonely enough to ask her to come with him. And he was so desperate that he asked her twice. The second time the Doctor came around, Rose Tyler looked down at her hand holding Mickey's and realized that no matter how much he loved her, he didn't really need her as much as that lonely hand seeking danger did. And when their hands met again, they weren't lonely, just seeking danger. Where had they been all her life?


	2. Talking to a Twig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey with the Doctor and Rose, only this time told partly from the perspective of all of the little things that they carry with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For season 1 episode 2, "End of the World."
> 
> So far I intend to have one chapter for each episode in seasons one and two. But it's possible the plot may take me in a different direction. It's rated teen overall just in case, but if that changes, it would be upgraded to adult. Due to the nature of this project, I'm certainly open to requests or suggestions if anyone has them.

“Didn't see your friend disembarking, come to think of it, Doctor,” Rose noted when they stepped back aboard the TARDIS from the chippy. 

The Doctor gripped one of the ship's coral struts, and stared down into the bowels of the engine through the rusty grated floor. He held on tight, knuckles white, and took a deep breath. It wasn't Rose's fault, he reminded himself. His head jerked up to offer Rose a wide smile. “No, you didn't.” 

The little cutting of Jabe's grandfather sat patiently in the console room's jump seat while the Time Lord showed his companion around his ship, and inevitably to her bedroom. The man was quiet when he returned a while later. He was gentler in picking up the little tree than the human girl had been. He looked at it as though it might break, or break his hearts. 

“Right then little one, you're with me,” The Doctor told the little tree as they began walking. He was quiet as they made their way through the dimly lit corridors that reminded them that the ship was alive with her little thrums and hums here and there. “Thought that I might forget you, didn't you? I hope you like to travel. You must have, if she carried pieces of you with her everywhere she went.”

Oh, did he ever wish to travel. He'd never needed to tell Jabe of his dreams. His granddaughter was all too familiar with his library of books telling of far off places that he would never be able to reach in life due to his failing health. Life was just a little cruel to him, having helped him become aware of his greatest wishes when he was unable to see them come true himself. There was no helping it. He at least had the love of his family. It was more than could be said of the Time Lord.

The little tree was carried into a giant open room with a vaulted glass ceiling. Though beyond that glass was a sky, there was no way that it could have actually been inside the ship. It must have been a projection of sorts. The sky was the same color as inside a grapefruit, too deep to be attributed to a sunset one might find on Earth. Was that his sky? 

The ship had a greenhouse. And though the plant wouldn't be able to see all of the places that the Time Lord traveled to from this room, the vast collection of plants contained within appeared to be from all over the universe. The little tree could visit many of the places the Doctor had been to by way of the flora that he collected. And they were all well looked after. This would be the little tree's new home.

“I thought you might like it here,” The Doctor finally spoke to the plant again after walking through a maze of rows and columns to get to a group of plants similar to the trees of the Forest of Cheem. “Think you'll make some friends here, won't you?” 

The plant was set down next to an empty small pot, larger than the one it presently resided in. The Time Lord disappeared and came back with a sack of just the right kind of soil. He smiled at the tree. “Like that, don't you? You'll never go hungry in here, that much I can promise you. Nice big pot, it should be roomy enough for you. And look there, see? An actual rose to talk to.” He was careful and meticulous with his gardening. In a matter of minutes, the tiny tree was in its new home, sitting pretty. 

The Doctor leaned over the resting plant and stared it down, as if the little piece of greenery held the answers to all of life's questions. He pretended as though the tear that watered the plant never fell, was quick to brush his dusty leather jacket across his temple. 

“You and Rose are related. Distantly. In the sense that you both come from the same planet.” He spoke after a minute of silence. “You and I though,” he paused to suck in a trembling breath, “we've got a bit in common too, don't we? We both lost loved ones in order to..” He furrowed his brow. The little tree was perfectly okay with being watered, but the weary Time Lord probably didn't feel this way. “I couldn't save her. I didn't even try.”

Rose's voice cut through his over the TARDIS's intercom. “Doctor, you said the galley is just past the third laboratory on the right. But this isn't a kitchen, it's a library!” 

He grinned up at the orange sky before looking back down at the contented tree. There was no helping it. He was stuck with the silly human. “I suppose we both have a rose to keep us company, now don't we?”


	3. All Dressed Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey with the Doctor and Rose, only this time told partly from the perspective of all of the little things that they carry with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For season 1 episode 3, "The Unquiet Dead."
> 
> So far I intend to have one chapter for each episode in seasons one and two. Due to the nature of this project, I'm certainly open to requests or suggestions if anyone has them.

It had never been worn. It sat in his wardrobe for ages. He wasn’t even certain why or how he acquired it, as with most other articles of clothing in his wardrobe. All it could do was hang there waiting to be called. And who knew when that would happen? It could be a week, or a few thousand. Fortunately dresses have no perception of time. But then one day, the motorized belt of hangers began to move again, rushing it to the front. Maybe today would be its day.

It had been chosen, even twirled around in front of the mirror and cooed at.

Rose hadn’t ever worn anything like this dress, given the fact that it took her so long to put it on. But this was acceptable, given just how rich it looked on her skin. And even though the sight of herself in the mirror nearly made her fall back, they both concluded that this dress may as well have been made for her.

It made her nervous walking back into the console room. He was one to poke fun, the Time Lord. Rose had learned this much rather quickly. This day would prove to be no different. But what Rose didn’t know was that his teasing was a tactic he employed to keep her from knowing how he really felt. And how he really felt was that she looked exquisite.

Yes, it was true. The Time Lord hadn’t yet seen Rose’s beauty. But he also hadn’t looked, well and truly looked. He knew that her eyes were brown, but not that they could sparkle. He knew that her hair was a bottle blonde, and really, did he care? It still looked beautiful either way when it fell in her face, making her have to gently brush it aside with her fingers. Her cheeks looked that much pinker when they dimpled as she ordered him not to laugh. The Time Lord could write a book about the way that she smiled back at him when he told her she looked beautiful. Was it his fault if he imagined the words rolling off his tongue and straight to those dimpled cheeks? He blamed the dress.

And oh, did she ever look gorgeous. It didn’t matter why he ever bought that dress. Maybe he stole it, or perhaps it found its way into his hands. It didn’t matter. The dress belonged to Rose now. Nobody else could ever wear it, because no other heart tamed his ears the way that hers did when it flapped in her chest like a trapped butterfly. And yes, of course he could hear it. It would be impossible not to. And how had he not noticed before that she had hips? All humans (and Time Lords) had them, but hers… Then there was the top. Did she know that it was a tease? He couldn’t decide whether it should be mandated to wear or outlawed entirely.

None of it was more fantastic nor as magical as the smile that spread across her face when she stepped out into the snow. Yes, snow did look the same in past as it did in her future. He wanted to take ownership of Rose’s pure amazement and put it on a shelf in his bedroom to admire for all time. He took her arm instead. It was only proper, given that she looked as such. He hadn’t dressed period, nor would he ever. He was glad in this instance that he hadn’t. Nothing should take away from Rose’s radiance in that dress, not even a dapper Time Lord.

He was all too eager to claim her as his. And thank the stars there was danger to hide behind, else Rose might have actually stopped to ponder his words, or his eager fingers clenching her waist. And thank goodness he could multitask, because the way that he briefly stopped to admire that immaculate expanse of skin stretched over her collarbones (dear Rassilon, she had shoulders) would probably not be considered appropriate. He wasn’t about to count the number of times that he forgot she was only nineteen years of age on this day. At least he remembered once. That had to count for something.

It was probably the first time in Rose’s life that she was made to feel anything but inferior, that she’d fooled someone into thinking she was of higher status simply because of how she was dressed. She wanted to be pleased by this, but it was so wrong. The idea settled into her stomach like a slice of rotten fruit. Rose thought before she got to know Gywneth that the dress gave her confidence. It hadn’t occurred to her that it was already there.

In fact, when the Time Lord’s resolve was at its weakest, her hand was right there to take his and remind him that he wasn’t alone, that not all battles end in him being alone. To him, Rose never looked as beautiful as she did right there when she told him they would fight together. Even after he told her that she could die anywhere, Rose was still braver than he was. The dress had merely been a distraction to her true beauty.

It was ironic then, that the dress reminded him of the fact that she was so young, too young for him. If any human was, then someone as vibrant, beautiful and brave as Rose most certainly was. Even when he put age aside (and that would be a huge aside), he’d done horrible things. Rose could never know that he felt he didn’t deserve her. And so, when she relinquished that special dress to the laundry, the Doctor took it into his own bedroom, the one he seldom slept in, and hung it up on display. Nobody else would ever be allowed to wear it, not even Rose.


	4. Superphone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey with the Doctor and Rose, only this time told partly from the perspective of all of the little things that they carry with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For both episodes "The End of the World" and "Aliens of London."
> 
> So far I intend to have one chapter for each episode in seasons one and two. Due to the nature of this project, I'm certainly open to requests if anyone has them.

It had been a simple task for the Time Lord to alter Rose's mobile phone. He thought nothing of it, even poked fun at the idea of it. It had all the appearances of a normal phone out the outside, clad in a pink and sparkling case. Rose didn't try to begin to understand what manner of jiggery pokery allowed the phone to call anyone anywhere. There were a lot of things yet that the Doctor refused to explain to her. It just worked.

Rose needed to call her mum for her own sake. She needed to know that her mum was still alive somehow, even though she'd left her billions of years behind. She was alive and doing all of the same mundane Earth things that she always did. Jackie's voice was an anchor, Rose's connection to _her_ Earth. The phone call's backdrop of the burning Earth was a reminder of just how much she needed this connection.

Yet, after this little phone call, the superphone was deposited on Rose's nightstand to be forgotten and collect dust while Rose took the Doctor's hand and followed him towards danger and adventure. It served its purpose, and was then discarded as easily as Rose had her simple human life. She never called again. She didn't need to. The thought didn't even cross her mind.

It's the truth that the Doctor makes you forget. But he also gives you a new perspective on the universe. In Rose's case, he gave her _a_ perspective on the universe, which prior to meeting him didn't extend much farther than the department store that he blew up. It was perfectly acceptable then to forget a normal life and family when battling blue gaseous creatures from across the universe, right?

The superphone sat waiting to be held, to serve as more than just the little anchor. But it had already been long forgotten. Rose didn't even cast a glance its way when shuffled into the bedroom that the Doctor had given her to observe the human ritual of sleeping. Not that she did much sleeping. The superphone had already served its purpose. Perhaps like its owner, its purpose had changed drastically upon entering the TARDIS.

Her mother's broken heart was just as much of a slap in the face as the one that her new companion received. How much had Rose changed during the short time she'd been with the Doctor that it was okay to make her mum feel like she'd been abandoned? It was worse than that, Jackie had thought her dead. Nothing quite stung Rose's heart as much as her mum's plea for a single phone call. Knowing that it had been well within Rose's power to do so made her callousness that much more unforgivable. She couldn't blame the Doctor for her selfishness when he'd given her the tool to contact her mother in the first place.

However, the Doctor had made it so that he was the only one that Rose could turn to completely with her plight, the only person who understood the enormity of what she faced. So as the first spaceship that London had ever seen flew over their heads, Rose did what had just started to become ritual: she took the Doctor's hand and they ran.


	5. Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey with the Doctor and Rose, only this time told partly from the perspective of all of the little things that they carry with them.

Rose carried a few key touchstones connecting her to Earth and her family. One of them was the key to her flat. Yet as she sauntered inside, feeling like a completely new woman from the one that she'd left behind, she chucked this key into its dish in the same manner she would a dirty shirt into the laundry. It was not unlike the way she had cast aside her mobile and forgotten it. It was not unlike the way that she'd run off with the Doctor and left her mum behind.

She left the flat key in its little dish by the door when she ventured up to the rooftop to escape the choke hold her mother's fury had on her conscience. Even right then, after she'd hurt her mum so severely, she found herself seeking shelter in the Doctor. He was a leaf blowing in the wind. Nothing could weigh him down for too long. The only thing connecting Rose to him, the inconspicuous blue box parked outside her flat, was just as mobile as he was. Thus far Rose hadn't felt a need to anchor herself to him because they hadn't stopped moving, hadn't stopped to think. Running was all fun and games until they stopped to actually breathe and look back at what they were leaving behind. Looking back was never a good idea, as this made it easier to trip and fall. This instance proved to be the perfect example. Even if he detested every minute of it, the Doctor was right there to pick Rose back up.

All day the Doctor had been carrying around a spare key to the TARDIS in his jacket. He was fully intent on giving it to her after she visited her mother. To the casual observer, the little silver key might look plain. It would certainly blend in with any other key Rose might have owned. But he wouldn't give it to just anyone, certainly not her mother. The little piece of precious metal resting in his leather jacket pocket was far too important. Rose carrying a key to his TARDIS made her a resident rather than merely a guest.

But that day had brought up questions in Rose's plans to run off with the Doctor. It wouldn't be the first time he traveled with someone that had second thoughts about leaving everything behind. He asked a lot of his companions, but he'd never apologize for it. As much as the lonely key hidden away in his jacket wanted an owner, it had to be given to the right person, somebody that the Doctor felt had no interests in leaving him behind.

“Promise you won't disappear?”

The Doctor stopped dead in his tracks and wheeled back around as he padded his pockets, searching desperately for the source of warmth that began radiating from them upon hearing these words. Alright, and maybe he was also in a rush. His curiosity could never be quelled. But neither could his enthusiasm for welcoming a hopefully permanent resident aboard the TARDIS.

Rose trapped the key in her palm as her heart began to sprint just a little. She grinned and bit her lip. She'd never felt quite as much like a schoolgirl with a crush after being given something so banal as a key. Except that it was all too important, this little key. The thought that she'd essentially begun living with a man (an alien man at that) hadn't hit her until that moment. But even more than that, the man trusted her enough with the TARDIS to give her her own key. Yeah, maybe she couldn't pilot the mysterious time traveling machine. But a key signified partial ownership to something. The TARDIS could be hers. At 19 years of age, Rose had never been given such responsibility.

Yet he still felt the urge to test her resolve, to leave little crumbs leading to his insecurities.

“You can stay there if you want. But right now a plasma storm's brewing in the Horsehead Nebula. Fires are burning ten million miles wide. I could fly the TARDIS right into the heart of it and ride the shock wave all the way out. Hurtle right across the sky and end up anywhere,” He teased her with, but paused a moment to allow his hearts to sink back down into his chest. “Your choice.”

He doubted her just enough as he left these words for her to stew over. The Doctor refused to be chosen as second best. He wanted to have Rose without all of those horribly domestic strings attaching her to Earth. And maybe if he offered her the most scintillating of destinations, he'd get what he wanted. Fortunately she wasn't there to see how his childishness wrinkled his face and made his hands tremble.

Little did the Doctor know that it had become a simple choice for Rose. She loved her mum, and Mickey. She had no doubts about this, and promised herself that she would come back to them. But the Doctor had given her a key not only to the TARDIS but the entire universe and all of the adventure that it could offer her. That connection, that touchstone is what made the choice to run simple. 


	6. Delicate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey with the Doctor and Rose, only this time told partly from the perspective of all of the little things that they carry with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the episode "Dalek."

If only the stupid apes knew what sort of journey that poor harp had been on as they offended it with their clumsy fingers. Even the Doctor didn't know precisely how such a precious relic wound up in the greasy hands of some human auctioneers galaxies away from its home. That is, if it still had a home. It was distinctly possible that the reason it was holed up in a basement museum on Earth was because its planet had finally succumbed to the ravages of war. It was an all too familiar feeling that tugged at the hairs on the back of his neck, almost as much as watching the idiots defile the poor harp with their mistreatment of it.

It deserved to be played properly. The Doctor didn't usually hold much of an interest for musical instruments. But his curiosity was known to get the better of him. It was certainly one to get him nearly shot at more than once. His arrogance convinced him that in this case it would be worth it to show them what this little thing could do.

As the Doctor's fingers spirited over the thin channels of the harp, he felt silence fall over the room like a thick blanket of snow. Of all the heartbeats this allowed him to hear clearly, there was only one that sped up as the little harp began to hum its tune. Had his fingers' delicate touch plucked her heart's strings as well as the harp? He'd certainly arrested her movements so completely that even her eyes tracking every sweep of his fingers didn't need to move that much. In that moment, he'd stopped paying attention to the little hums of the harp in favor of the harmony that Rose's racing heart was singing.

The dull gray harp was meant to shine, much like the lights that dotted its surface. It needed a good polishing and a bit of gentle sanding to wash away the evidence that it had been mishandled. Of course he said that they'd held it wrong, when he really meant that them _having it_ was wrong. Just knowing that the ancient relic actually _worked_ fueled the Doctor's urge to resuce the harp. Clearly Van Statten couldn't care less about it given the way he chucked it like rubbish to a bin. He didn't dare tell them how important it would have been, for fear that Van Statten would box up the relic and add it to his macabre collection of alien artifacts. Instead, he pocketed the little relic when nobody was looking and brought it back with him on board the TARDIS.

Thousands of light years away, in times long gone, this little harp would have been painstakingly crafted by one man wishing to woo a woman. No two harps were exactly alike. Not only would it have to be well made (which incidentally this one was) and well tuned, the man would have to spend years learning to play it well enough to win the heart of the woman who'd stolen his. As the Doctor set the newly polished harp down on his nightstand (the one next to the bed he rarely used), he mused about how it had actually worked as intended. He _might_ not ever play it for Rose, but at least he could – in the privacy of his own bedroom – take comfort in knowing how well it would work, if ever ever chose to play it for her again. 


	7. Hack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey with the Doctor and Rose, only this time told partly from the perspective of all of the little things that they carry with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the episode _The Long Game_.

“Shame.”

“Sorry, what is, Doctor?”

He could have taken his pick of any prestigious university anywhere in the world. The potential was there for all to see, plain as day. He could have gone to Cambridge or MIT. He could have been a rocket scientist or a brain surgeon. Dumb luck gifted Adam Mitchell with a brilliant mind, and with it he could have changed the world. Yet nearly from the start his mind wired itself for hacking, in every sense of the word. To call him curious would be akin to calling a bazooka brought on a fox hunt overkill. A man as wealthy as Henry Van Statten had his pick of the litter of geniuses. He chose the genius that spent his time and faculties hacking into government supercomputers. And to what end? Surely Van Statten didn't buy the excuse of boredom that Adam laid at his feet. The two of them had more in common than either of them might be willing to admit.

The humans that viewed their world as more than just a means to an end were few and far between. Too few. It was perhaps of little coincidence that Van Statten surrounded himself with people that preferred to take what they could from the universe. In his dreams Adam might have fancied himself an eagle soaring high above the rest of the world. And maybe he appeared to be just as alluring. At least eagles know to keep flying after they've caught their prey.

Maybe Adam hadn't stepped aboard the TARDIS with personal gain in mind. But did it matter when this changed at the sight of tantalizing technology? The hacker in his mind utterly disregarded being told the technology was _wrong_ , that interfering was strictly forbidden. He wanted it, and transcended rules and his own well being to get it. He hacked it, with no thought to consequences or the results of his actions. He might not have been the violent sort, but the mind of the hacker had just as much potential to destroy lives, if not more so. Adam could have been easily just as dangerous as the Jagrafess. There were only two differences between them: species, and the fact that Rose had at one point trusted one of them.

She was a simple shop girl. Didn't even have her A levels. She was only 19 and already she'd made a good many mistakes in her life. She was dreadful with mathematics, and sometimes it seemed like she made a sport of misspelling common English words. Her knowledge of Earth history was embarrassing to say the least. Yet she still could have gone to Cambridge or MIT. She still could have been a rocket scientist or a brain surgeon if she wanted to. She'd probably been told at least once in her life that a lowly estate kid couldn't rise to such an occasion. But this didn't stop her from asking the right questions, or from insisting that she help the Doctor save London, citing that he couldn't do it alone. And she was right. Thus far she'd been right every time.

The Doctor looked up from the monitor he'd been prodding in the console room, perhaps holding onto the hope that enough poking and prodding would make it work properly. Until he saw Rose before him, waiting with bated breath for him to speak, he hadn't realized that he'd spoken in the first place. But he must have, he thought, as he watched Rose's caramel eyes dart around his face looking for cues. He started to hop up and straighten his posture, but was interrupted by just how soft Rose's commanding gaze could be. Words. He'd meant to speak something in response. But what was it? He took one step closer to her so he could sweep his thumb across her forehead (her perfectly intact forehead, thank Rassilon) and offer her a little smile.

“It would be a shame,” he murmured to her, “to waste such a beautiful mind.”

 


	8. Key to a Man's Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey with the Doctor and Rose, only this time told partly from the perspective of all of the little things that they carry with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the episode _Father's Day_.

Most of Rose's belongings had a particular knack for walking about. A select few stayed close, her favorite hoodie, mobile, and trusty mascara. But even they liked to have a wander every now and again. Rose certainly did wear her mascara to bed. Her hoodie didn't have its own glass dish in the bathroom for when she showered. Her mobile could easily be replaced, with any old phone. She wasn't picky. The same couldn't be said about the key she carried around with her.

Rose didn't keep track of her own keys. She was certain they were in her bedroom on the TARDIS somewhere. They were supposed to be in her rucksack, to carry back with her when she visited her mum. They usually weren't. If Rose's belongings were wanderers, then her keys could be considered explorers. At one point they ended up in a pair of the Doctor's trousers that were laundered with hers. They liked the counter top by the fridge in the galley. They'd certainly become familiar with the TARDIS wardrobe.

But the TARDIS key? It had no desire whatsoever to wander. It stayed by her side always. It might have been a bit spoiled, even, the way that Rose looked after it as a mother bird would an egg. It was never misplaced in between wardrobe changes. It could perfectly map the insides of every one of Rose's jackets. And when she went to bed in between adventures it often enjoyed resting in her palm for a few minutes before falling asleep. It was not unusual for her to fall asleep clutching it. It was almost as much a part of her jim jams as her camis and shorts.

The key was more than just a reminder that Rose's life had drastically changed. It was an instant connection to the Doctor, no matter where they were. When she was separated from both him and the TARDIS, the trusty key was always there to be the bridge between her and the Doctor. It was perhaps the most mundane gift she'd ever been given, but among the most important.

And perhaps she should have told him before that he was the most important man in her life, too. But when would the situation have presented itself? Maybe she didn't even know to say so in the first place. She hadn't grown up with a man in her life. He was her first. First _real_ one at least. Certainly the first one she shared a living space with. Definitely her first that wanted to see her true potential flourish. And he was her first that veiled his emotions thinly under every spoken word. He practically wore them on his sleeve.

His disappointment though, that may as well have been a bright button pinned to his jacket. It joined all of the hurt, guilt, and regret. The key that was light in Rose's jacket wore heavily on the Doctor's hearts. It had been given to a woman that he thought was different from other humans, special, understood him and his way of life. He felt for this 19 year old girl in a way that he hadn't really been aware until he'd taken that key – warmed by her beating human heart – back into the safety of his cold, calculating hands.

If he didn't care so much it wouldn't have been so hard to demand the return of his TARDIS key. Maybe care wasn't even a strong enough word. How could it be, for the first person he'd truly trusted after the Time War? Trust wouldn't be enough either. They both knew it. It buzzed, sparked, _singed_ as she bit back at him for leaving. It didn't matter that he'd never meant to leave her, it still seemed so wrong for him to walk away with that key in his jacket instead of hers.

Though it was the wrong fix, the key still tried to bring them back together. The TARDIS's need to mend things saw it acting rashly, a rare occasion in time travel. There was still a chance, even if he hated how she'd acted, that he could save her from losing him again. The TARDIS aided him in his need to make her happy again.

And if she'd known it would see him to his own demise, she never would have left the TARDIS in the first place. Forget the universe. The Doctor, the man that was _supposed_ to be alive, was too important to her. He gave his life to save hers. It seemed wrong then, to hold the TARDIS key, after she'd so poorly misjudged him. She never thought she would have been important enough to a Time Lord for him to give his life to save her.

She wouldn't doubt him, misjudge him, take advantage of him, or misunderstand his feelings after that day. She certainly wouldn't after he stayed with her on the TARDIS that night, not after he didn't shy away from all of the tears. She fell asleep under his arm on the couch in one of the TARDIS's living rooms that night. She didn't deposit the key in pockets anymore. On this day she wore it for the first time, and let it sit right on top of her heart.


	9. Misfit Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey with the Doctor and Rose, only this time told partly from the perspective of all of the little things that they carry with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a missing scene before the episode _The Empty Child_.

Tucked away in the deepest abysses of the TARDIS, underneath the third library (the forbidden one), around the bend from the powder room (for powder, not the loo), upstairs from the third floor chemistry laboratory, and well past the corridors with functioning lights was the prison for collected artifacts and technology. They were plucked from the farthest reaches of the galaxies and time itself. Some of them were considered “dangerous,” others were abandoned, even more still were too unique and unusual to leave behind. The man with changing faces would tell them later they might – _might –_ be useful, as he shoved them onto a metal mesh shelf behind some doodad or oddity that it didn't belong next to (he would beg to differ of course).

One might think that because the long term residents of this little hovel were all caked in dust, rust and mold that they had been forgotten. No, the Time Lord was well aware of their presence, on a rather regular basis in fact. He even made certain that they were still functional (except for the ones he deemed particularly dangerous, they were just unlucky), perhaps out of some degree of respect. But respect and appreciation are two different ideas. One can be respected without being even remotely appreciated. Some devices had been sitting on the same spot on a shelf for 500 years, having only been picked up and touched once.

Some of these items could even be called useful. Did that shorten their prison sentence? No. Purely for existing they were doomed to rot in a dark little room, only to be seen a couple times a year. Even then, most of them were scarcely looked at. The quiet life, never to be touched, never to be held, never to be used; that's what they were sentenced to. If these little curios could dream, they would dream of being deemed useful, of cooling a kind user's palm, of serving a purpose. Pipe dreams.

It was no small secret that the Time Lord carried with him only a few precious tools of the trade. He would certainly never carry a weapon, nothing that could be used as a weapon. If he fashioned anything, he would try his damnedest to make certain it wasn't a weapon of any sort if he could help it. Simple tools were the Time Lord's style. Oh, to be a sonic screwdriver, which had its own equipment closet right by the console room! It never left his hands, much less his cherished leather pockets. Or perhaps the psychic paper, which he was always proud of (insulting, really, given it's just a piece of paper tucked into a leather folio). Pipe dreams.

Until one day, when the lights buzzed angrily as they came to life. Had the Time Lord been replaced? Oh what a day that might be, if only. He never turned on the lights, not the main ones at least. He also wasn't female, young, or blonde. He certainly didn't gasp and coo as he walked into the room.

“Definitely not the laundry,” the blonde girl chuckled. “Where have you gone and moved it to?” Surely she was speaking to the time ship as she began to stroll the first aisle, dancing her fingers along the sheet of dust on the metal table. “Oh but look at you beauties. Why's he gone and hid you lot way back here?”

The girl seemed to know better than to pick up any of the abandoned devices, choosing instead to lean in and study the ones she deemed interesting. Her warm, briny breath brought life to nearly rusting old metal as she hummed in revelry passing through each makeshift aisle. Her smiles for each neglected piece could have made them shine. They soaked in her murmured coos of awe and wishes for bigger pockets like long dry sponges. If only they knew what day this was. It would be one to etch into their calendars for the ages.

“Rose, what are you doing in here?!” the Time Lord roared as he flew into the room like a blanket of storm clouds ready to burst. “How did you even _find_ this place?”

The female leapt, and crashed into a tall bookcase behind her. The Time Lord came rushing over to catch a ray gun that came toppling over. “I was looking for the laundry. I think I got turned round, and well, I was just looking, Doctor.”

He turned away from her and began to pace the aisles inspecting everything. His eyes were beady, his breath hot with hushed fury, and his fingers clenched along the table edges. The girl jammed her hands into her jacket pockets and planted herself in her spot, following his every move with her soft gaze.

“You're not supposed to be in here,” he scolded. “There's a reason it's all the way back here. It's dangerous.”

“The door was open, Doctor. No harm in looking. Anyway, why would you hide all this stuff? It's gorgeous! We could _use_ all this!” The girl leaned in and dipped her finger to a device, brushing off some of its dust to reveal its face. “Aww, see look at this one Doctor. It's like a little panda. Oh, is this a speaker? Does it play music? What's so bad about this?”

He didn't look up to answer. “That's not a speaker grille on its backside, Rose. It's an air vent for gas. It's used to release poisonous gas into a room.”

She yanked her finger up and jumped back. “That's awful. Still, not everything in here has to be that dangerous, Doctor.”

“No, but they're also not terribly useful, either.”

“Oh now come off it. Look at this one! Got to come in handy!”

“That's just a laser corkscrew, Rose. Pretty, yes. But pretty useless, too.”

She huffed and rolled her eyes, ignoring his warnings as she continued her tour of the room. “There's no harm in carrying around a few extra gadgets, is there? What if you so happen to need a laser corkscrew and you don't have one, hm Doctor?” She waggled her finger at him with a matching tongue-tucked smile after setting down the “useless” corkscrew.

He looked up and returned her eye roll full force, complete with a wrinkled brow. “I can manage just fine without all of this junk, thank you very much.”

“You've got all this tech here, and you're not even using it. It's a waste, and it's.. well..” She tucked an errant lock of wavy hair behind her ear and watched him chuck a device into a nearby bin behind him. “It's a bit boring.”

The Time Lord rose to his full height and straightened his jacket while exhaling a bit of hot tension. But before he could put her in line with his quiet fury, an alarm above their heads sounded. He peered out into the corridor and looked back, slight grin dimpling his cheeks.

“Time to go!”

“What, just like that?”

“Yup! Come on then, it's mauve this time!”

 

 

 


	10. The Journey of One Purple Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey with the Doctor and Rose, only this time told partly from the perspective of all of the little things that they carry with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the episode, “Doomsday.” And to my darlings that were following before June, no, you did not miss 17 parts to this fic. I needed an outlet for Doomsday feels. The chapter number of this part is subject to change.

The life of garments on a time ship was a quiet one. You sit on a rack for up to hundreds of years (depending on how dated or obscure you are) with thousands of your closest friends gathering dust. You get up close and personal with an incredibly tacky jumper, whether you like it or not. You become accustomed to the stale air and delightful aroma of mothballs. If you’d like to have a chance of being worn, less taken care of, you’d best be a woman’s garment. 

She was a blonde. A blonde! Perhaps not quite as petite as she ought to be. But she had the right curves for the job. No, shirts can’t feel anything. But if this one could, it’d be hope when the blonde turned her nose up at it. Yes, it was badly in need of a washing. But just the hint of a smirk said she saw its potential. Finally. She bit her lip in between wicked smiles and undid the top button when she saw herself in the mirror with it. 

Before it knew up from down (not that it could), the tight-fitting purple button up was pressed up against his dapper pinstriped jacket. Who knew it’d even see the light of day, not to mention touch one of  _his_  treasured ensembles. The moment was fleeting; far, far too fleeting. The gravity of this wasn’t felt until long after she removed the shirt. Yes, the shirt was well looked after. For a while. For a shirt that had been bunched up between a sequin skirt and an itchy jumper for several decades a while was the length of a bat of her eyelashes. 

So it came as a shock (again, if it  _could_ feel anything) when the shirt was moved from its throne on the back of her bedroom chair to a pillow on his bed. Maybe the Time Lord looked after his own garments properly, but he didn’t endeavor to do the same for the purple shirt. Suddenly its place among the disregarded clothes in the wardrobe was paradise. The wasteland on his bed was garment-less. It was a lonely existence, particularly for a shirt that he would never dare to wash. Worse still, he wrinkled the fabric with his tears. Did he know nothing of looking after clothes? Clearly not. His life changed, along with the bed linens. The shirt’s place on his bed was the only permanent fixture in his bedroom. It was resolute, somehow managing to survive the freckled face’s tears, the boyish one’s cries, and the wrinkled one’s sighs of anguish. It was a lonely existence, yes. But at least it was cherished. All it took was one glorious moment. 


End file.
